


around the clock

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anniversary, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “Please don’t be upset,” Eddie says on the other end. That’s a crush and a crinkle of static as he shifts, probably his sleeve brushing the mouthpiece of his phone. Richie pushes his glasses up into his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “I’m so,sosorry, Richie. I mean it. I’ll make it up to you, like, times a thousand, okay? I swear.”“No, I know,” Richie says. “I believe you.”“With this work that Marjorie—”“It’sokay,Eds,” Richie cuts him off. “It’s a Wednesday. It was a long shot anyways.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 247





	around the clock

**Author's Note:**

> For [Jane](https://twitter.com/janeejames73?s=09)!

Richie likes to think of himself as an understanding person.

He is. He’s  _ incredibly  _ understanding. He takes the time to listen to other people and he truly tries to think through their viewpoint before he responds. It’s not easy; the skills have come over time, and maturing, and a shitload of therapy, but he’s pretty much pulled it off.

—Which is  _ exactly  _ why, when Eddie tells him he’s going to have to work late on the night of their  _ first wedding anniversary,  _ he just says, “Oh. O— Okay.”

“Please don’t be upset,” Eddie says on the other end. That’s a crush and a crinkle of static as he shifts, probably his sleeve brushing the mouthpiece of his phone. Richie pushes his glasses up into his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry, Richie. I mean it. I’ll make it up to you, like, times a thousand, okay? I swear.”

“No, I know,” Richie says. “I believe you.”

“With this work that Marjorie—”

“It’s  _ okay, _ Eds,” Richie cuts him off. “It’s a Wednesday. It was a long shot anyways.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “I called Stan and he’s going to come over and hang out with you until I come out.”

_ “No,  _ no, he doesn’t need to do that,” Richie hurries to say. He mostly just wants to sprawl out on their bed and mope about Eddie not being there. “I’m fine until you get home.”

“He’s already agreed to come,” Eddie says, “but you can call him and tell him to turn around.”

“Oh— No, that’s fine,” Richie replies. He presses his hand flat over his eyes, then rubs at his temples. “Do you know how late you’ll be?”

“No, baby, I’m sorry,” Eddie says. Richie tips backwards into the wall in their kitchen, thumping his heel back against the baseboard.

“I’ll wait up for you,” Richie tells him.

“No, Rich, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Richie says. He pushes away from the wall and says, “We can have dinner, take a shower, put a movie on. You can just relax. How’s that?”

“That sounds perfect,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m really sorry. You know I wouldn’t—”

“I know, Eds,” Richie interrupts him. “I know.”

They’re both quiet again for a long moment before someone says Eddie’s name, far away, and he pulls the phone away from himself to answer them. He’s muffled, probably with his hand over the mouthpiece. When he comes back, he says, “Babe, I gotta go.”

“You go do your thing,” Richie tells him. “I’ll be here when they let you out.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “I love you.”

Richie smiles, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his blazer. It still sometimes kicks his heart into overdrive, hearing Eddie say that to  _ him  _ so freely after so many years of being forced apart. That’s part of why he’s  _ so  _ fucking bummed about Eddie not coming home on time: this was supposed to be their celebration of one year together, of beating literally  _ all the odds  _ — from their intervening years of repression to their shared trauma over It to — to be together. And they’ve been married for a year. A  _ year. _

“I love you, too,” Richie says, voice quiet and low, trying to keep it from breaking. It’s stupid, it’s  _ stupid,  _ he’s over forty years old and Eddie’s just going to be coming home late. It happens. It  _ happens.  _ It happens literally  _ all the time;  _ Eddie had to work late Monday night, too.

“Okay,” Eddie says again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” Richie says, and Eddie hangs up. For a moment, Richie just exhales, pressing his phone to his forehead. He taps it there once, twice, then pushes away from the wall to head for their bedroom instead. He’s got every intention of stripping off the nice clothes he’d put on and just hiding under their covers until Eddie shows up.

Unfortunately for him, the doorbell rings. A moment later, he hears a key rattling in the lock.

“Fucking—” Richie starts, cutting himself off as he nearly trips over their coffee table in his rush to get the door open. Yanking it open, he finds Stan on the other side, his hand hovering up where the doorknob had been, his keys still dangling from the lock.

“Hello,” Stan says, unmoved. After a moment, he smiles slightly, his brow furrowing a bit. “You alright?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Richie says. He waves his phone at Stan, then steps back so they can both go back inside the house. “I just got off the phone with Eds, I didn’t know you were so close by.”

“Oh,” Stan says. “Why’re you all dressed up, then?”

“I was gonna try and surprise Eddie by taking him out for dinner or something,” Richie tells him, kicking the front door shut. Stan laughs; Richie turns to glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stan replies. “I’m sorry he has to work late. I know I’m a poor substitute.”

Richie deflates, then sighs, striding across his living room to hook his arm around Stan’s shoulders. He rattles him, kissing the top of his head; Stan swats at him, shoving at him without any strength behind it, grinning the whole time. “Maybe we can’t do all the same stuff—”

_ “Definitely  _ can’t,” Stan corrects him, still smiling.

“—but,” Richie continues, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I think we can make a fun night of this, if you  _ have  _ to babysit me.”

“I’m not  _ babysitting  _ you,” Stan replies. “I was thinking we could maybe go out, actually.”

Richie groans, pushing Stan away so he can make his way back to the kitchen. Stan follows; Richie can hear his shoes click on the kitchen tile.

“I don’t want to go  _ out,  _ man,” Richie says. “I wanna stay here and feel sorry for myself because my husband’s at his stupid  _ job _ instead of here with me on our stupid—  _ fucking  _ anniversary. Fuck.  _ Fuck it.” _

Stan catches his arm, then rubs up to his shoulder, digging in there to grip Richie firmly. Richie sighs again, but he lifts his head to make eye contact with Stan again.

“It’s okay to be upset,” Stan tells him. Richie tips his head all the way back, closing his eyes when they start to burn. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Richie says. “It’s just stupid. I’m supposed to be an adult.”

“It’s  _ okay,”  _ Stan repeats. “Why don’t we go for a drive?”

Richie exhales all the breath in his lungs. Stan feels immovable, so he just nods and says, “Yeah, fine. That’s fine. Probably good for me to not just hang around bumming myself out.”

Stan claps him on the shoulder and says, “That’s the spirit.”

It’s not until Richie’s actually in the car with Stan and they’re on the road that he realizes he doesn’t know where they’re going. With a frown, he looks over his shoulder at the rainy street behind them. Stan just glances at him sidelong from the driver’s seat.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Richie asks. “Are we downtown?”

“We might be downtown,” Stan tells him. He takes a smooth left turn. Richie turns on Stan, starting to scent trouble.

“What’s going on?” Richie demands. Stan’s eyes stay fixed on the road, which feels like even more evidence of guilt. Problem is, Richie can’t figure out what Stan’s guilty  _ of,  _ and his heart rate starts to speed up.

“I’m just taking us for a drive,” Stan says. He cranes his neck to check a street sign through his windshield before taking another turn. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Okay,” Richie says suspiciously. “Okay, something’s up. What’s up? What’s going on here, what’re you doing?”

“Richie,  _ relax,”  _ Stan tells him, reassuring and firm and  _ amused.  _ That lightness actually makes Richie calmer than anything; Stan wouldn’t fuck around with him for no reason.

“Are you going to push me off a bridge or something?” Richie asks.

“Downtown?” Stan asks. “No, Richie.”

“Then what’re you—”

Richie cuts himself off when Stan pulls up along the curb. He puts the car in park, then looks expectantly to Richie. They just stare at each other, for a moment, before Stan motions to the passenger side door.

“Well, go ahead,” Stan says. “Get out.”

“Get  _ out?”  _ Richie asks. “Are you abandoning me on the side of the road?”

Stan sighs again, smiling just a little bit. He leans over Richie’s lap and unlocks his door himself, hooking his spindly fingers in the handle and shoving it open.

“You really want me to fuck off, don’t you?” Richie asks. “I’m onto you, Uris.”

“If you weren’t, I’d worry something was wrong with your head,” Stan tells him. “Now  _ go.” _

Richie climbs up and out of Stan’s car onto the sidewalk, pulling his collar up to protect himself from the drizzle of rain. He grabs the edge of the car’s frame and leans back inside to ask, “Where am I going, exactly?”

“Why don’t you go get something to eat?” Stan suggests. He points to the entrance behind Richie.  _ “Go.” _

“Love you, too, buddy,” Richie tells him, clapping on the roof of the car.

“I love you, Rich,” Stan says. Richie pushes back from the car again to stand in the middle of the slick-wet sidewalk, the sun already going down beyond the skyscrapers of the city. “Have a nice night.”

Richie smiles, feeling better for the first time since Eddie’d called him, and says, “You, too, honeycakes.”

“Dipshit,” Stan tells him. Richie waves and slams his car door shut. Stan waits for him to turn and go inside the building, true to form, so Richie gives him another short wave at the door before slipping in.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, because he paid exactly zero attention to the exterior of the building, but he finds himself abruptly in the grand lobby of a massive hotel. The entire place gleams with black marble and gold trimming; there are well-dressed people milling all over the place, and a restaurant to one side, through darkened doors.

Remembering Stan’s suggestion to get something to eat, Richie makes his way to the restaurant’s interior entrance.

“How many in your party?” the hostess asks. Richie hesitates, then peeks into the restaurant past her.

“I think I might be meeting somebody here,” Richie says. The hostess’ face lightens with understanding.

“Are you Richard?” the hostess asks. Richie fights back a laugh and just nods instead, and she says, “Oh, come with me.”

He follows her through the main room of the restaurant to a smaller side room and, sure enough, as he’d started to suspect the more suspicious Stan had acted, Eddie’s already there. As soon as they make eye contact, Eddie pushes away from the table he’s seated at.

“Hi, Rich,” Eddie says. He goes around the table to tug Richie’s chair out for him, but Richie catches his face in his hands and kisses him instead of sitting down. Eddie grins into the kiss, his hands slipping up and threading his fingers through Richie’s hair, smoothing it back from his face. When they separate, he flattens Richie’s collar, then thumbs at his chin, still smiling.

“You’re such a fucking—” Richie starts to say, but Eddie leans up and kisses him again, softly this time, and he lets it fall.

“Surprise,” Eddie says. Once they withdraw again, Richie realizes the hostess has already left them, and they’ve got menus on their cozy little candlelit table.

“You idiot, I almost  _ cried,”  _ Richie tells him. Eddie takes his hand over the table and kisses the back of it.

“I was worried you might,” Eddie confesses, “but I thought it might be worth it.” With his free hand, he traces a fingertip along the rim of his glass, then asks the water inside, “Was it?”

“Was it what?” Richie asks.

This time, Eddie looks up and asks Richie directly, “Was it worth it?”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie says, and Eddie’s face flushes pink. “You’re always,  _ always  _ worth it. You and your fucking  _ surprises,  _ Eds, where’d this  _ come  _ from?”

“Did I get you?” Eddie asks, excited. Richie laughs.

“You did,” Richie says. “You got me. I was already all the way downtown before I realized Stan was actively kidnapping me.”

“Took a little long,” Eddie comments. “Should I put a tracker in you? You know you’re not supposed to get in vans with strangers, right?”

“Shut  _ up,”  _ Richie insists. Their waiter comes and asks for their orders, even though Richie hasn’t had a chance to look at the menu yet.

Richie hesitates, but Eddie says, “If you want, I can order for you. I saw something I thought you might like.”

Smiling, Richie hands the menu over to the waiter and says, “I’ll just trust him.”

The grin on Eddie’s face and the way his cheeks go red is more than worth saying something that purposefully in front of a stranger. While Eddie orders, Richie decides to push the envelope a little bit; he hooks his ankle through with Eddie’s, kicking their heels together. Eddie smiles, just a small thing, but he doesn’t break in ordering.

Richie leans in, dropping his chin into one hand. His other hand, he keeps under the table; he slides it across his own thigh to his knee, then transfers slowly and casually to Eddie’s knee, thumb sliding over his kneecap. Eddie shivers, nearly shoving the menus into the waiter’s hands when he lurches.

“You’re  _ ridiculous,”  _ Eddie hisses, as soon as the waiter’s gone. “We’re in  _ public.” _

“Oh, pardon me,” Richie says. “Allow me to be more proper and demure.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. Richie keeps his hand on his knee, and Eddie doesn’t dislodge him, so he chances another couple of inches upwards on his thigh. Eddie grips the edge of the table with white-knuckled fists.

“For the love of  _ God,”  _ he grits out. Richie smiles, already half-hard and completely delighted.

There are few things in life that Richie takes more joy from than flirting with Eddie. His formative years were  _ filled  _ with flirting, with Richie hurling any and every flirtatious or horny thought that entered his brain in Eddie’s direction, so maybe it’s just a force of habit. He thinks there’s more to it, though. Even though they’re married, it’s still one of Richie’s favorite things to do.

When Richie makes comments about how handsome he thinks Eddie is, how soft his hair looks, how nice his smile is, Eddie always ducks his head, rubbing at his face with one hand. He smiles every time Richie flirts with him, and Richie doesn’t even think he notices, but he does. His face’ll go all pink, and Richie will tell him how much he loves him, or make a comment about his hands, or tell him how funny and smart he thinks he is, and Eddie just  _ melts,  _ every time. He gives Richie these incredulous faces, sometimes, too, like he doesn’t believe it, or he can’t  _ quite  _ believe any of it, that Richie’s saying all this to him, that Richie  _ believes  _ it, but he does. He doesn’t just believe it, he  _ knows  _ it.

Not for nothing, but he gets a lot out of flirting with Eddie. Besides all that, Eddie flirts with him, too, and it makes him feel warm from the base of his spine through his whole body. By the time they’re finishing their dessert, his blood is electrified and his body is warm and his head’s in the  _ clouds,  _ he’s so in love.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” Richie tells Eddie quietly, while Eddie’s sliding his spoon through a melted little puddle of whipped cream on their shared plate. Eddie’s huge eyes dart up to him, all warm and dark with his blown pupils.

“Why?” Eddie asks. He licks the spoon clean, and Richie’s eyes trace the shape of his tongue as it slowly moves.

“Oh, you  _ know  _ why, you fucking  _ minx,”  _ Richie says. Eddie laughs, setting his spoon down beside their plate. “Done? Ready to go?”

“Nope,” Eddie says. Richie actually does hesitate, briefly confused.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re not going home tonight,” Eddie tells him. Richie frowns, so Eddie continues, “You noticed where we are, right?”

Richie pauses, then asks, “You booked us a room in a hotel that’s twenty minutes from our house?”

“Uhh, correction, I booked us the honeymoon  _ suite _ in a hotel that’s twenty minutes from our house,” Eddie tells him. Richie raises his eyebrows at him, but Eddie just smiles back at him.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Richie asks.

“Of course I’m fucking serious,” Eddie says. “Why would I lie? I already checked us in.”

Richie’s breath catches. After a beat, he says, “But it’s not our honeymoon.”

“Oh, then I’ll go give it back, we can get our stuff and—”

Richie pushes up and over the table, planting his hands on the tabletop to steady himself so he doesn’t lose his balance when he kisses Eddie. His husband laughs into the kiss, rising up to meet him, cupping Richie’s face tight in his hands.

“Does that mean you want to stay?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, and Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth. “Good answer.”

“I thought so, too.” Richie separates from him and stands, lets Eddie escort him from the restaurant back out to the lobby. He hooks their arms together, enjoying the way it makes Eddie’s smiling face go pink again. They don’t separate even after they’ve gotten into the elevator. Eddie just uses his free arm to wriggle his room key loose from his pocket.

Richie leans into Eddie’s side, noses into his hair and kisses the crown of his head. He drags his hand up into Eddie’s hair and scratches lightly at his scalp, kissing down to his ear while Eddie squirms into him, laughing.

“You look so  _ good,”  _ Richie murmurs near the shell of his ear. Eddie twists into him, settling his palms flat against Richie’s chest. He  _ does  _ look fucking good, too, in tight pants and a fitted violet jacket and his curling hair combed back from his handsome face. Richie can’t help but slide his hand under Eddie’s blazer to the black shirt underneath, fingers slipping over silk as he fumbles with the buttons to get his hands on Eddie’s skin underneath.

“What if someone gets in the elevator with us?” Eddie hisses, once Richie can feel his heartbeat without any clothes between them. Richie ducks his head and kisses behind Eddie’s ear, dragging his tongue down to the juncture of his shoulder and his throat.

“I think they’d get it once they saw you,” Richie murmurs. Eddie huffs a laugh, choked in the back of his throat, just as the elevator door dings. They jump apart, Richie’s heart leaping into his throat, but it’s only letting them off on their floor, the doors sliding open with a solid, even  _ ka-chunk. _

“For the love of God,” Eddie mutters. He takes Richie’s hand and pulls him from the elevator, grumbling, “Stupid fucking— Elevator jolting and—  _ Jesus fuck—” _

“Alright, look, cranky, c’mere,” Richie says. He tugs Eddie back closer and kisses the back of his neck, and Eddie finally laughs, pushing at him.

“Our door is  _ right there,”  _ Eddie insists. Richie keeps trying to kiss him, but Eddie drags him to the door, swiping their key card and shoving the door open to let them in.

“Okay,  _ now  _ c’mere,” Richie says, pulling Eddie deeper into the hotel room. It’s definitely a suite, actually, because there’s multiple rooms, and Richie pauses in the entryway, unsure of where to go.

“Come on,” Eddie says. He wraps his fingers around Richie’s wrist and turns, walking backwards to guide Richie towards the bedroom. Like the lobby, the rooms are black and gold, luxurious and lavish; the huge bed in the middle of the penthouse suite’s bedroom is miles of black silk with gold scrolling leaf designs all over.

It’s beautiful, but Richie can’t bring himself to care too much, in the moment. All he really cares about is the way Eddie turns him around and pushes him to sit down on the edge of that tremendously large, soft bed.

Eddie stands between Richie’s knees, tipping his face up with two fingers under his chin. The two of them just look at each other in the warm, dim light before Eddie asks, “How do you feel?”

Richie actually considers the question before answering. It doesn’t change his reply, though, which is a very honest, “Like I am stupid,  _ stupid  _ in love with you. Just—  _ So  _ in love with you, Eds. Really.”

Eddie’s eyes are a little glassy, his handsome face still pink when he drops his head. When their lips are a breath apart, Eddie murmurs, “I love you, too.”

They meet in a slow kiss. Eddie opens his mouth and languorously licks along Richie’s tongue, his hands sliding up Richie’s chest to rest on his shoulders. He carefully guides Richie backwards onto the bed; he straddles his waist, letting his weight ground him as he pushes Richie’s blazer off his shoulders. His slender fingers and strong hands make quick work of Richie’s shirt, shoving it off of him before he all but tears his belt off and his zipper down.

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs. He drags his blunt nails down Richie’s bare chest, over his belly, making his back arch as fire shoots through him from the top of his spine to the base of his cock. Richie groans, and Eddie’s hand gentles, just for a moment, before he wraps it around Richie’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Richie curses, jerking into Eddie’s grip. Eddie drops his head to kiss over Richie’s navel before dragging up over his heart, up the line of his throat to his ear.

“I got you,” Eddie echoes. “Let me take care of you.”

Richie nods erratically, and Eddie smiles, warm and  _ hot  _ equally as he meets Richie in another hard kiss.

Eddie’s planned ahead, it seems, when he climbs off the bed to grab a suitcase Richie hadn’t noticed before. Both of their clothes are folded neatly inside, from what he can see, but Eddie ignores them completely and unzips the top pocket of the suitcase and reaches in blindly. He withdraws their lube and tosses it up onto the bed with Richie.

“Let me,” Eddie instructs him, before Richie can reach for the bottle. Richie waits, impatient, shuffling back against the pillows and only stopping his fidgeting when Eddie climbs up and over him and settles between his legs again. He separates Richie’s knees, kisses up the inside of his left thigh to his knee, smiling there when Richie shivers, full-body.

One-handed, Eddie snaps open the lube and squeezes some into his palm. He spreads it over his fingers, runs his thumb through it, just for a moment, before he reaches down and pushes into Richie’s entrance with one fingertip. They’d fucked the night before, and Richie’s still a little loose — he fingered himself in the shower that morning, too, which helps, so  _ sue him,  _ it’s his  _ anniversary —  _ so he takes Eddie’s index finger easily.

Eddie murmurs nonsense, gripping Richie’s leg in one hand when he slips a second finger in and starts to scissor him open. He says things like, “I love you,” and, “God,  _ look  _ at you,” and, “Holy  _ fuck,  _ Richie,” all of which make Richie’s cock pulse between them, untouched and rock-hard. Eddie’s still mostly dressed,  _ fuck  _ him, and Richie groans, grappling for him.

“Take your clothes off, c’mon,” Richie begs him, breathy. Eddie’s answer is to slip a third finger inside him; Richie’s head falls back into the pillows as Eddie splits him open on his strong, deft hand.

“How’s that?” Eddie asks. In the next instant, he finds Richie’s prostate, stroking the pads of his fingers over the nerves, and Richie whines, high in his throat, choked out of his chest. Sweat smears on his glasses lenses when he tosses his head to the side to bury in the pillow. “It’s good, then?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Richie mumbles, breathless, tense. Eddie withdraws his hand to sit up on his knees, back in the middle of the bed. He pulls his blazer off and tosses it aside, but then he just undoes the fastenings on his pants and yanks them and his underwear down past his thighs.

Richie can see why: he’s hard, too, his cock curving up against his belly, red, pulsing, and Richie just wants to  _ touch,  _ so he  _ does,  _ and Eddie groans, his chest heaving when his head drops and his eyes close, his hand flying up to catch Richie’s wrist.

“Let me—” Eddie grunts out, then stops, exhaling slowly. When he opens his eyes again, lust-dark and hot when they land on Richie’s face, he says, “Let me take care of you. Richie, I want— Can I take care of you?”

“Yeah, Eds,” Richie breathes. Eddie drops down to kiss him again, bracing himself on the bed beside Richie, using his other hand to slick his cock and guide the head to Richie’s entrance. He splits Richie open on his huge cock inch by inch, pushing inside of him smoothly until he’s seated inside him, their hips flush, both of their hearts pounding visibly in their chests. Richie’d be surprised if Eddie couldn’t hear the blood rushing in his veins, roaring in his ears, because it seems  _ so  _ fucking loud to him.

Their hour-plus of flirting in the intimate restaurant downstairs coupled with the  _ everything  _ about this — Eddie surprising him, the way Eddie’s dressed, how he’s treating him, how he’s  _ handling  _ him — put Richie on the edge sooner than he’s used to. He can hear it in Eddie’s chest too, though, in the way he’s breathing and the nonsense he’s rattling off as he pulls back and starts fucking into Richie in earnest. His hands grip his hips; then, one spreads up his belly and his chest to grip his shoulder, holding him firm in place, fucking him hard but so  _ soft,  _ the look on his face is so fucking  _ soft— _

“Eds, come on,” Richie gasps out. He can feel heat and fire and lust dragging down towards his core, gathering at the base of his cock and pulsing and  _ throbbing  _ and he wants to  _ sob,  _ he’s so overstimulated and overwhelmed. Eddie drops his head again and seals their mouths together, kisses him hard, and Richie groans.

“I got you,” Eddie says. “I got you, I got you—”

He finds Richie’s prostate again and fucks into it, pounds that sensitive spot that sends shockwaves through his body. Eddie takes his hand off his waist to wrap around his dick, jerking him once, twice, and then Richie’s coming between them, feeling like Eddie’s wrenching his orgasm from his body in  _ gusts. _

“Oh, fuck,” Richie chokes out. Eddie gathers him close, holds him tight and doesn’t relent; he keeps fucking him until he comes, too, warmth spreading through Richie’s body as Eddie slumps down into him, burying his face in Richie’s sweaty throat.

For a moment, they just lay there, Eddie’s cock slowly softening inside Richie. Then, though, Richie laughs breathily.

“What?” Eddie asks, slurred and smiling. Richie can hear it in his voice.

“This is just way better than moping at home with Stan,” Richie tells him. Eddie laughs, too, a breath huffed against the underside of Richie’s jaw.

“Definitely better than staying late at work,” Eddie agrees. He kisses the hinge of Richie’s jaw, then shifts to sit up, propping himself up on his elbow digging into the mattress next to Richie’s head. Richie chances one kiss, then another, slow, soft. Eddie smiles into it. When they separate, Eddie says, “Okay, get some rest. I’ll get you some water while we wait.”

“Wait for what?” Richie asks. Eddie carefully pulls out of him, the both of them wincing when he pops free, before he sits up and stretches his strong arms with a groan.

“The next time we’re ready to fuck,” Eddie tells him. Richie laughs, falling backwards into the pillows; Eddie squeezes his hand. “It’s our anniversary, Rich, I’ve got plans to take care of you all night.  _ All  _ night. I  _ love  _ you.”

“I love  _ you,”  _ Richie replies. There’s a thousand more words, a million, all trapped in his chest, choked down his throat, but he knows that if he starts letting them out, he’ll never stop, and he kind of likes Eddie’s plans for their night better, right now.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
